


Goddess Bless the Queen 2.0

by sigmalied



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Other, Political Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigmalied/pseuds/sigmalied
Summary: When threatened by an elusive mutual enemy, Councilor Tevos and Aria T'Loak must overcome their differences and collaborate in the interest of self-preservation. Meanwhile, Liselle braves the cruelty of Omega's underworld to help defend her mother's syndicate. She uncovers Omega's darkest secrets... including many of Aria's.
Relationships: Aria T'Loak & Liselle, Tevos/Aria T'Loak
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	Goddess Bless the Queen 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the reboot of Goddess Bless the Queen! Here's some quick background information: I have decided to rewrite GBTQ simply because I love this story, I want to finish it, but I also want it to be the best it _can_ be through an intensive overhaul. In the near future, the original GBTQ and Confidentiality will no longer be available on my AO3 account. However, they can still be found archived on my [FFnet account](https://www.fanfiction.net/~sigmalied).
> 
> Please keep in mind that "Goddess Bless the Queen 2.0" is a working title and may change entirely.
> 
> This fic is a sequel to [Leave of Paradise.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177125/chapters/30139566)

_Year 2081 CE_

Now that Councilor Tevos was on the cusp of her eighth century of life, the concept of novelty had become an artifact of youth. Set against the sheer multitude of unique events she had ever bore witness to, the vibrance of change and newness dimmed, and excitement could now only be derived from ever-narrowing gaps of nuance. Eventually, they would close altogether and life would sink into a futile cycle of inevitability.

This, she thought, was how it felt to be old. This was the matriarch’s burden; not the physical dotage that plagued other species, but an existential fatigue at the predictable course of nature. A matriarch’s wisdom was simply her ability to wield history and its patterns in service of herself, rather than be a helpless servant to _it_.

It was a grim diagnosis, certainly, with perspective as its only balm.

Ironically, her epiphany was in itself a novel experience. It was a tipping point, with an important election day supplying the final nudge: Councilor Tichus Alvian was retiring at the conclusion of his term, leaving no incumbent for the turian seat.

Tevos, alarmed at how quickly the last several years had passed, had reminisced in a digital photo gallery where she archived countless ceremonies, articles, and high-profile petitions throughout her tenure. Scrolling further into the past only emphasized the incredible turnover rate of her colleagues. Whereas they came and went like seasons, Tevos remained an unwavering constant. She was as constant as the podiums themselves.

So far Tevos had only served half her term; around fifty of the one hundred years standardized by the asari at the original founding of the Council. What score of yet-unborn politicians would she make policy with one day, who’d rise and wither before she even registered the weight of decades?

When the time came to watch the Primarchs ceremonially cast their votes via live broadcast streamed to her office terminal, the Presidium had already wheeled into sunset. Its colossal projection screens spilled profuse orange into the Embassies. The glass of chilled water Tevos held glowed like a handful of fire as she pensively stood by the window and listened.

Presently, Primarch Kylris Estulius of the Paridros colonial cluster was poised for victory. From what Tevos had gleaned, he was decisive, resourceful, and determined - a man of action. While that profile generally made for excellent leadership in the eyes of turiankind, Tevos’s major reservation was his potential for stubbornness. She could not recall the last time the Council ruled in perfect congruence with a singular desire. Typically, myriad concessions would be made to accommodate important interests, resulting in dozens of revisions to every nascent law, mandate, and proposal that crossed their desks. Any obstructive behavior at their level could stall proceedings indefinitely, but not without incurring foreign and partisan criticism. Hopefully he’d be under enough pressure to adapt. 

The vote count rose in all columns of the graphical overlay, unevenly distributed as the front runners raced ahead. Tevos sipped her water and peered out at the traffic flowing beyond reinforced glass and barriers. Further on, false clouds evolved and morphed at a natural albeit simulated speed, dreamily curving along the ceiling of the great torus. A peculiar sympathy draped over her like a tenuous curtain, muting the broadcast and her own thoughts, until the sound of an electronic bell roused her.

Tevos faced her terminal to spot a mail notification banner hovering on the screen. It provided no details regarding the identity of the sender nor the contents of the file, but a simple “urgent” flag arrested her attention. After having a seat at her desk, setting her water glass on a coaster, and silencing the live broadcast, Tevos accessed the item.

> **[CLASSIFIED]**
> 
> SPECTRE FIELD REPORT: #180676-21-a
> 
> FILED BY: NEORA SARTHIS / ID: S-37842185
> 
> DATE: 18.3.2081 16:86:23 GST
> 
> COPIES TO: CLR. TICHUS ALVIAN, CLR. UWANA FORLAN, CLR. TEVOS N’VANI
> 
> [Sentry Omega, Attican Traverse]. On 16.3.2081, a checkpoint was established at the Attican Beta mass relay to intercept vessels bearing Council Space registry [Reference: #180621-4-h re: Alunigen B2 trafficking]. At 11:29 GST on 18.3.2081, a vessel with registry tag 1T72291N was hailed. We ran the tag and recognized the vessel as a subcontracted freighter for Dantrida Natural Resources.
> 
> When we requested their manifest and permission to board for inspection, Captain Riasla Haise demanded a search warrant. We provided our Spectre credentials and received her compliance.
> 
> Captain Riasla claimed the freighter was devoid of cargo; 1T72291N was allegedly en route to receive a shipment of refined element zero from a third-party supplier in Sahrabarik. Upon inspection, the cargo hold was indeed found empty. However, cabins 3 and 4 in the crew’s quarters housed a sizable cache of military-grade armaments and explosive devices. 
> 
> 1T72291N failed to produce the appropriate licenses for the commercial and/or private transportation of military-grade weapons. Pursuant to Council Conventions statute 84-1d, the cargo was seized, the crew of 8 personnel detained, and the vessel impounded.
> 
> A complete list of seized cargo follows:
> 
>   * (32) Crossfire-IV assault rifles (Armax Arsenal)
> 
>   * (24) Thunder-II assault rifles (Haliat Armory)
> 
>   * (120) Incendiary grenades
> 
>   * (16) Cobalt salt micro-nukes
> 
>   * (5) High explosive charges (2.5 gigajoules ea.)
> 
> 

> 
> COMMENTS: It’s not atypical for Dantrida to hire armed protection for their remote sites, but doing so through illegal channels? And to requisition actual bombs? These aren’t your garden-variety mining explosives. I think we can confidently surmise that they’re arming someone, but _who_ is presently unknown, and of great concern.
> 
> I’ve decided to red flag this. The potential for terrorism or colony raids should not be disregarded.
> 
> I’m investigating whether Dantrida had knowledge of the subcontractor’s activities. While the crew is being processed and questioned, I’m monitoring a cyber probe into Dantrida’s internal communications. I’m inclined to act quickly. If Dantrida is criminally involved, they may be alerted to our interference within hours and start whitewashing.
> 
> I would request the Council’s advisement (if any) on the matter as soon as possible.

Her omni-tool chimed. Councilor Forlan was contacting the other councilors before Tevos could even finish reading the final line of the report. She wondered if Councilor Alvian had managed to read any of it; he was likely engrossed with the vote, more than any of them. Nevertheless, she answered promptly.

The salarian councilor's voice hit her ear without delay; light, articulate, and swift. “Have you seen this, Tevos? Where’s Alvian?”

A moment later Alvian’s voice joined their conference, as did a subtle echo of the same broadcast Tevos still played on her desk, muted. It too was quickly silenced. “I’m here,” he grumbled. “Next time, give me at least ten minutes, would you? Can someone summarize? I’m trying to have supper.”

“Spectre Neora has uncovered a rather alarming weapons smuggling operation,” Tevos said while scrolling through the document again. Specifically, she dwelled on the excerpt _en route to receive a shipment of refined element zero from a third-party supplier in Sahrabarik,_ and remarked in distraction, “She certainly has her hands full.”

Forlan supplied a more complete summary. “Near the Terminus-Attican border; military-grade armaments and high explosives aboard a Dantrida-subcontracted vessel. Our Spectre is currently probing their internal communications and has requested our advisement. I would suggest a subpoena as soon as possible. Emails, metadata. If we keep this quiet we might be able to leverage a possible investor panic against them.”

“Should we reconfigure our resources?” Alvian inquired. Over the comms line, they could hear the clatter of tableware. “If this escalates, Sarthis may be too green to manage retaliation from either side of their broken supply chain by herself, and we need not agitate the Terminus Systems.” After pondering a moment, he proposed, “We _could_ reassign this to Vasir. She has more experience operating with discretion.”

“I don’t think that’s feasible,” said Tevos. “Tela Vasir is already knee-deep in a serious investigation of her own. A biochemical facility in Annos Basin, if you recall. Now… let’s dial back from haste to discuss the circumstances first. I find it incredibly unlikely that Dantrida would ever be offered enough direct compensation for arming a foreign conflict. Either they have a long-term strategy in mind - some oblique form of rival sabotage through proxy, perhaps - or the trafficking is only occurring at the subcontractor level. Dantrida’s trade routes are famously expedited by permits that allow them to bypass dozens of checkpoints. I can see why they’d be an appealing carrier.”

Councilor Alvian said, quite thoughtfully, “But for whom? Just how concerned do we need to be?”

The conference call went silent as each councilor waited for another to speculate first. For Tevos, the next logical step was obvious: if the shipment had been heading for the Sahrabarik system, its destination was almost certainly Omega. The extreme diversity of groups and interests on that station alone might have been enough to impede their process of deduction, had there not been a verified link between Dantrida and one specific organization.

Tevos had every intention to share her suspicions, but when the time came to formulate words, her voice caught in her throat. She didn’t understand it. Evidently, somewhere along the years she had found a place to bury that name and all its associated memories, revoking access not to others, but to _herself_.

She felt chagrin whenever she thought about it. Her perverse curiosity, her indecision, her consequential lapses of judgement. What a mess Nevos had been, and Tevos nearly made it unsalvageable by entertaining - even for a _second_ \- notions of supreme frivolity.

The only remedy was to keep Aria sealed away in the furthest reaches of her conscience, where all semblance of daydream and associated regret was left to fade into obscurity. 

Still, from time to time Tevos thought of her and profoundly wished she was wise enough not to.

“What about Aria T’Loak?” Councilor Forlan supposed. “STG intelligence has reported a recent uptick in gang wars on Omega. Maybe in an effort to stay well-armed she’s dabbled in outsourcing.”

Alvian scoffed. “I don’t think Aria T’Loak of all people would be hard-pressed to find new suppliers. _Especially_ if it jeopardizes her contract with Dantrida’s subsidiary. If we’re provoked into imposing sanctions, she loses her sole legitimate avenue into our markets. That’s a lot of revenue gone to waste.”

“Still,” Forlan argued, “she should not be held above suspicion, if only for caution’s sake. Omega is the Terminus Systems’ heart of commerce. The more power someone like Aria T’Loak accrues, the easier it becomes to unite the sector as our aggressor. It’s in our interest to keep that region decentralized. We should start keeping closer tabs on her.”

The turian councilor grumbled, “Any closer and we’d be breathing down her neck. She’d definitely notice then if she hasn’t already.”

A contemplative pause suspended the discussion. Tevos idly wrapped her fingers around the cool rim of her glass and glimpsed the broadcast, where Kylris Estulius outperformed all other candidates by a considerable margin. Latent thoughts seeped in from the back of her mind until they eclipsed the issue at hand. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nevos and how she wronged Aria with passivity, how she feared Aria wronging _her_ in due time, and whether that had been adequate justification.

Eventually, Forlan emerged with a hypothetical. “What if we candidly inquire about the armaments?”

“If we confront her we give away our position,” said Alvian. “Are we willing to cede that?”

Forlan replied, “I’d argue that Aria T’Loak knowing our suspicions would rather _deter_ violence, if she plans any. A preemptive strike is only effective when the victim is caught unaware and underprepared. Tevos? Care to weigh in, or have you forgotten the time-sensitive nature of this conversation?”

Tevos shook away the clouds of memory overcasting her conscience and said, “It’s a moot point. It’s not Aria’s habit to raid our colonies or trade routes unprovoked, even indirectly. If the armaments are hers, I’m sure she’s applying them to a domestic issue and we need not fear any hostilities. Now, it’s another matter entirely if these shipments are _not_ hers. Not every faction in Sahrabarik possesses good sense.”

“You speak with the confidence of familiarity,” Alvian observed. “You’ve dealt with her in the past?”

She admitted, “I’ve had the mixed fortune, yes. At the founding of our colony Ryasus, she attempted to outmaneuver the Republics’ property laws. In the end we outmaneuvered _her_ , albeit barely. She has an intuitive grasp of people and their behaviors, and an even greater awareness of situational opportunity. I agree with Tichus - Aria would never jeopardize her relationship with Dantrida like this. She knows it exists because we allow it to exist.”

“Since you’re so well-versed in her modes of operation,” said Forlan, “would you consider speaking to her on behalf of the Council? If we hope to make any meaningful progress over the next few days, we need to open a dialogue. No other is in such a position to know the climate of faction relations within the Terminus Systems.”

When Tevos sighed, a ghost of a laugh left alongside her breath. “I don’t think that’s possible. We didn’t part amicably. You see, the matriarchy sabotaged her plans and I essentially told her to get over it. If I’m to inquire, I’d best be accompanied by the rest of the Council to better legitimize any diplomacy. By my lonesome I’d invoke a personal grudge.”

“If all three of us make an appearance it’s an admission of concern,” said Forlan, “and we aren’t concerned. We’re only… curious.” He paused to anticipate Tevos's reply. When she remained silent, he added, “Tevos, even if Aria T’Loak is initially uncooperative, you hold the higher ground. Mention sanctions. Mention freezing or revoking Dantrida’s cross-sectoral licenses during a pending investigation. She’ll respond once her wealth is at risk.”

Tevos wove her fingers together and touched an index to her lip, thinking. While it was her responsibility to serve the Council in this matter, duty did nothing to alleviate her apprehension.

It had been fifty years. _Fifty_ years - more than enough time for both to put the past squarely behind them. Surely Aria no longer spared her a thought, much less resented her while she had more important things to occupy herself with. However, Tevos had previously thought herself in that very position, until confronted by the prospect of reestablishing contact. What perturbed her most was failing to answer _why_ she felt so uneasy, when Aria’s opinion of her was irrelevant to the current situation.

She didn’t fear her. Aria was a formidable mind and posed a tremendous threat to anyone unequipped for her particular strategies, but Aria could be understood and repelled with exhaustive effort. Her ego, her selfishness, her tendency for spite… all could be exploited.

Maybe her hesitation was rooted in reluctance to take such measures at all, when the simple - and tragically unlikely - alternative was willing cooperation. How wasteful it was, for two opposing forces to collide and cancel out rather than be assimilated into one doubly-potent vector.

“Tichus?” She sought his input. “Are you in agreement?”

“Well,” he answered, “right now, Omega is our only lead and Spectre Sarthis requires criteria for her communications probe. If we have access to the people monitoring Omega Control, we should take full advantage of it. It’s worth our time, and the clock _is_ ticking.”

“Very well,” she conceded. “I suppose I’ve been convinced.”

Councilor Forlan said, “Excellent. In the meantime, Alvian and I should seek that subpoena.”

The pair resigned from the call, leaving Tevos to finish her water, shut off Kylris Estulius’s inevitable victory, and assemble her bag in preparation to depart.

Outside her office, Tevos accosted her secretary at the front desk. 

“Good evening, Eleni. I’m going to make a long-distance diplomatic call and head home. No need to process the transcript. It’s… off the record.”

Eleni nodded. “Of course, Madam Councilor. Have a good night.”

Dusk enveloped the Embassies. The immaculate corridors dimmed as offices emptied and their door locks glowed a subdued red. Janitorial staff were making their rounds, herding supply carts and flocks of whirring cleaning drones. Tevos and her light C-Sec detail dodged them on their way to the nearest deep space communication console.

The technology was old and unwieldy, occupying an entire room with its components and interface, meanwhile modern omni-tool devices could just as easily transmit and receive across the galaxy provided all parties were in proximity to a comms buoy network. It remained in use for few reasons aside from reliability, tradition, and protocol. While the comms room compiled usage logs, personal omni-tools were difficult to monitor and frequently fell short of security standards.

Tevos stood alone before the console, straightening her collar and smoothing the fabric of her dress wherever habit deemed necessary. After drawing a steady breath and shedding as much personal investment as she could manage, Tevos placed her call to span that tremendous emptiness dappled by stars. Several agonizing minutes passed.

Eventually, a hologram emitted from the projector and coalesced into a familiar body of light. Aria was seated, arms lying along the back of a couch with one leg crossing the other. Her features shimmered with mild vexation as she said, gently and viciously in the same breath, “Councilor. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Her intensity was impossible to forget. Even at ease, Aria was coiled like a serpent preparing to strike. She glowered at Tevos from within the frame of her high collar, while every movement of her cold blue eyes, no matter how minor, spoke cryptic multitudes.

“I have acquired intelligence that may be of interest to you,” Tevos began, wasting no time on empty pleasantries.

“And?”

Before Tevos could elaborate in the slightest, Aria was already on the hunt for ulterior motive.

 _“And,”_ said Tevos, watching Aria bring a lowball glass into view, “I would offer you said intelligence provided you share something of equivalent value. I assure you, there will be an opportunity to judge whether it’s worth your time.”

“Interesting. Now just _what_ could spur the asari councilor into seeking my counsel, of all people?” A smirk tugged at the corners of Aria’s lips until she swirled the contents of her glass and sipped from it.

“Thoroughness, to start,” Tevos retorted. Thus far, their conversation was unfolding precisely in the manner she anticipated: with substantial difficulty. “My agents discovered a large quantity of military-grade armaments being smuggled into Sahrabarik through a mediator with ties to you. Consequently, your trade routes may be disrupted in the coming months as we investigate. Does any of this sound familiar?”

Aria withdrew for a moment to think, although she never let her gaze stray from its deadlock with the councilor’s. “It’s Dantrida, isn’t it?”

Admittedly, Tevos was surprised Aria afforded her that much. “Yes. So you are aware?”

“What I’m aware of,” said Aria, “is a missing freighter. Last ping was in Attican. After that, we lost contact. This was your doing?” At Tevos’s implicit confirmation by silence, she dryly added, "Well. I’m not so sure if that’s a better fate than losing it to a drive core fry.”

Tevos pressed her, “I need to know whether the freighter was in criminal possession of armaments by your design. If so, Dantrida could be held fully liable, and the terms of your contract restricted or outright nullified by court ruling. Personally... I don’t believe this was your doing.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Aria remarked, verging on a sneer.

“But I do believe you might know who _is_ at fault. You see, it’s in your interest to direct me elsewhere.”

She seemed perversely amused by Tevos’s maneuvering. “And why, exactly, would I cooperate with the foreign power threatening my business associates? It sounds like you’ve already made your decision to litigate. If I know names and give them, all I’m doing is bolstering your prosecution with testimony.”

“What I really want to know is whether we need to be concerned. We found high-grade explosives, Aria. Nuclear mines. Perhaps _you_ should be concerned.”

“I’m not,” said Aria, firm and certain. Violence glided just beneath the surface of her voice. “Councilor, there’s something you need to understand. I have been very tolerant of your spying and meddling. I fed your agents false flags, watched them chase their own tails for years, and called it even. _That_ is the extent of my courtesy. I assure you, if you take another step toward my contract, there will be hell to pay. I am the master of more fleets, armies, and covert agents than you can account for. Corporations and politicians from all over the galaxy are in my pocket. I will be your worst nightmare.”

Tevos found her vainglory baffling. Did she genuinely not care about her own associates slipping sensitive cargo onto Omega right under her nose? If Aria had been ignorant of this activity, what else could be brewing in secret? Evidently, power and complacency had intoxicated her, dulled her judgement and elevated her conceit to dangerous heights. Either Aria truly viewed herself as infallible, or she was concealing weakness. Both were worrying.

“The only delinquent actor in this circumstance is Dantrida, not the Council,” said Tevos. “Instead of misdirecting your frustration at me, maybe you should ask Dantrida why they’re treating your relationship as expendable.”

Aria gave a minuscule upward tilt of her chin to affirm confidence, but the impact of her silence could not be diminished. She had no clever riposte. If Tevos were of petty disposition she might’ve savored the tiny victory, however fleeting it was. Somehow she managed to resist the temptation.

“Say I looked into this,” Aria proposed noncommittally. “In the meantime, what could you do to ensure the continued operation of my shipping routes?”

Tevos briefly pressed her lips into a thin line as she assessed whether her prerogative included unilateral power to delay the proceedings currently underway. Normally, it wouldn’t. Not without the official support of the other councilors. Although, they _had_ pushed her into liaising without establishing any framework whatsoever regarding appropriate concessions.

“I can keep your shipments flowing,” Tevos answered, “but I must uphold stringent checkpoints. This may result in delays. The alternative is a cross-sectoral license suspension.”

“Is that really the best you can do? Come on.”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Until I learn more about the situation, I can only afford to make minor allowances.”

She nodded, shallowly and unemotive. At length Aria declared, “I’ll resolve this within a week. After I do, I'll expect proper restitution if I’m to endure any losses.”

Tevos coolly replied, “If Dantrida’s oversights cause you financial harm, I suggest you file as an early claimant to streamline your compensation.”

Her eyes narrowed at the deflection. “Keep in good faith,” said Aria. “Do that, and I won’t obstruct you.”

The assemblage of light abruptly vanished, leaving Tevos alone within the milky pale walls of the comms room and the quiet hum of its components powering down. She made a very conscious decision to remain personally divested; Aria's recalcitrance would've singed any of her colleagues just as surely, and dwelling on the status of their relationship would prove an exercise in futility because there was _no_ relationship to speak of. There was only rubble where cordiality should've stood, and Tevos wasn't so sure which of them had ordained the demolition. 

At least, Tevos had done a fair job of securing Aria’s cooperation. Relatively. Where total failure had been her expected outcome, Tevos had managed to pry open a door and keep it open long enough to compel Aria’s involvement. Aside from Dantrida, the situation provided a unique opportunity to acquire Aria as a vital asset where intelligence was concerned, and the Council would expect her to take full advantage of it.

The supreme trouble would be, of course, convincing Aria that the Council was not interested in undermining her.

* * *

The raw ire emanating from Aria’s glower penetrated the crimson haze of uncertain light and cigarette smoke of her lounge, reaching the guard stationed at the peak of the steps leading back down into Afterlife’s bass-heavy clamor. Without a word or gesture between them, he - an absolute fortress of a batarian, well-armed and vigilant - approached Aria's crimson throne to identify what vexed her, and lend his services to the obviation of the problem. 

She watched his approach. Once he was within earshot, she said, “Jala, do you recall why I don’t like surprises?”

After several years employed as Aria’s top enforcer he most certainly _did_ , but he would not deny his boss the pleasure of saying it herself. Jala Holso folded his thick arms and shrugged.

Aria bitterly answered, “Because I can’t tolerate someone knowing something before me.”

Her eyes, glazed by a veneer of rich ambient red seeping in from the massive advertisement column just beyond the tinted glass, drifted to the patrons occupying the private lounge just below hers. Tracing her stare led Jala nowhere in particular; Aria was already pondering her solution to whatever ailed her. For several seconds neither spoke. The air was polluted by voices drowning in heady music.

“Would you like me to fix a problem?” he finally asked.

Without looking at him, Aria replied, “Have a seat.”

He did, extending the screen of a compact terminal drawn from his belt as he lowered himself onto the sofa cushion beside Aria. Before she could even begin elaborating, Jala had a blank text document and a robust contact list at the ready.

“We have reasonable cause to believe that Dantrida has been dishonest in way that might compromise our relationship,” said Aria. “Apparently they’ve been caught smuggling, and foreign law proceedings are endangering my contract. As of today, no one knows the scope of their little side project, so I’m not going to confront my account handler. Yet. This is going to be an internal matter for the next week. Need-to-know basis _exclusively_.”

“Who’s our source?” Jala inquired as he finished transcribing and emboldening Aria’s most recent remark. “Is the intel legit?”

Aria’s voice was wound taught and irate when she replied, “The Citadel Council. Still, I’m not completely convinced. Certain councilors have a history of leading others astray and I’m not about to let them manipulate me into lobbing inflammatory accusations before I know where we stand. I want my own evidence. A low-profile investigation is in order.”

“I’ll get in contact with the spymasters.” 

She lifted her glass of blue elasa from a low tabletop and raised it to her lips. Centimeters away from a sip, Aria stalled at the formation of a new thought. “Tell admin not to fuck with any Council informants for a few days,” she decided. “If they want to confirm we’re working on this, let them.”

While Jala set to work composing the necessary correspondences, Aria reclined, nursed her drink, and roasted in her lavish environment. She was a furnace stoking vengeance. She couldn't believe the nerve, not only of Dantrida tempting fate by thinking they could deceive and exploit her, but also of Tevos.  


After all these years, the councilor's first order of business was dismantling the one placating stipulation that convinced Aria to spare the old consortium. The statement inherent in Tevos’s actions could not be misconstrued. It was clear and arrogant dismissal, simply because her ethical customs had been mildly inconvenienced.

Indeed, if Tevos was unwilling to shield Dantrida, she was unwilling to preserve their implicit truce. And Aria had no intentions of staying vested in something with no future, which was admittedly a damn shame, but a necessary one. She could see the future laid out plainly before her. The moment Tevos killed her contract, Aria would react with proportionate aggression. Commerce in the Attican Traverse would be heavily impeded by her pirates. The Council would retaliate from afar with sanctions, restricting Aria's access to vital border worlds. From there the situation could only devolve into skirmishes, and once that happened, well, the forecast for the next financial quarter would turn quite dismal. 

Worst of all, they both knew what lurked on the horizon yet continued striding toward it. They had never been at war before - neither hot nor cold - but Aria could estimate the substantial degree of damage the Council could inflict. Hell, Tevos _alone_ could make her life very difficult. Her moderately progressive style of legislation kept partisan rifts narrow within the Republics, she articulated and rationalized her stances with the talent of a natural orator, and she frequently submitted the deciding vote or swaying argument that determined wide-reaching policy. Citadelian bureaucracy swung like a sluggish, circumventable club in the hands of most, but wielded by someone with the proper finesse... it cut like a swift blade. 

It was fortunate that Aria was secure in her own prowess. Over the last several decades she had galvanized unprecedented economic growth on Omega through keen business sense. Rather than debilitate local enterprises with piracy, she bought or protected them, allowing them to flourish on the sole condition of fealty. While Omega could only be gripped in nothing less than an iron fist, force and intimidation had their limits. Security and solidarity were vital commodities for the health of any society; things Aria's former rivals had struggled to convey. This weakness brought on their downfalls once Aria swept their legions away with vastly superior offers.

Just the previous month, Aria's longevity on Omega was commemorated with a district-wide party on her first centennial of uninterrupted rule. The celebration - an absolute uproar of decadent proportions, where drugs and alcohol and chaos ruled that night in Afterlife - gained such notoriety it invaded headlines within Council-controlled territories for a week. Aria was provident and imperishable, and many loved and hated her for it. Someday, Aria was convinced, she would defy history's inability to recall a time when the station was united under one faction.  


The grand project was already underway. She was systematically smoking dissidents out of their bunkers and laying violent and successful sieges to areas resisting her control. With the passage of every year, it seemed, that goal steadily drew closer. With all her resources focused there would be no denying her capacity for _trouble_ , and the likes of Tevos would never again be misguided enough to fearlessly displease her.  


Although, it was highly irritating that she still even cared what the councilor thought of her at all. Perhaps they _had_ been at war all along, albeit in utter silence. A war waged over an incredible sea of stars, inflicting injury solely through the medium of news broadcasts spotlighting their triumphs and failures. A war of pride.  


As she ruminated, the ice in her drink melted down to translucent beads. Her next taste was her last. It was unpleasantly dilute; she set it aside to be picked up by an attendant.

Her subdermal earpiece chimed - a direct line from an important contact. When she answered with a flat, "Go ahead," Aria heard the flanging tones of her turian lieutenant Aetius Visiom.

"Aria, you might want to come to upper Mazat and see things for yourself. There's been a _—_ well, a murder. You're not going to like this."

* * *

The elite nightclub and casino in the Mazat District, called _Dradmovan_ , was not located within Aria's territory. Gang etiquette prescribed an announcement of movement over border lines, a gesture that might've been empty and pointless from a syndicate as powerful as Aria's if there hadn't been value in reassurance of non-hostility. Still, Parem Igrahal, founder and leader of a nameless batarian collective endemic to the Mazat and Fumi districts, was welcoming because the incident spelled bad news for _everyone_. 

Aria and Jala Holso crossed the club's threshold and submerged themselves in the deep, eerie blue light bathing the floor of her destination. The ghoulish sea of patrons parted in her wake, flustered or perturbed as they were held in place by local muscle until acquitted of involvement. As she walked, the music persisted, brimming with spirit and power; the haunting timbre of batarian string instruments, taut drums, and zills raining into a buzzing soundscape. 

They approached the bar where the shifting blue light gleamed in a faultless varnish over the main attraction: a metallic statue depicting the batarian deity Anoragot, corpulent and towering in build. He was unnervingly eyeless. Yawning, blackened voids were in place of his four sockets, staring into oblivion. He was the batarian god of death, lord of their underworld. It was he who devoured the pathetic deceased in blindness, only able to sense the nature of their souls, which were indistinguishable from those of his true meal of slaves and lesser species.

Waiting at the bar was Aria's lieutenant and Parem Igrahal herself, clad in luxurious violet silks and gold accent rings, with a well-maintained handgun fastened to her belt. Each were flanked by their own corresponding security attaché. Upon inquiring about the location of the corpse, Parem Igrahal wordlessly pointed upward at the statue, where Aria's gaze locked onto a gruesome anomaly. In Anoragot's outstretched arms, representing his insatiable hunger for souls, lied the body of a batarian man. It was Olat Dar'nerah, one of Aria's lieutenants. 

"We did not move him," said Parem, "out of respect for you and your people to do what you wish with him." Concern deepened the creases of her aging features as she stepped aside to permit Aria a closer look.

Aetius said, "Had a guy check him when we got here. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the back of the head. Point-blank, execution style. And there's another thing: his eyes were gouged out. It was a professional job, maybe with proper surgical tools rather than a cheap job with a knife. No slips or scrapes around the sockets. Not sure if it happened post-mortem or not, but I'd hope so for the bastard's sake."

Aria glanced away from the macabre scene to locate his green-painted face within the relative darkness. "So what is this shit, a hit? A murder cult?" She expelled a quiet, furious breath. Revenge _would_ be had. "Who put him up there?"

"We asked around," replied Aetius, "and anyone who saw anything says he climbed up there on his own and lied down. People just thought he was drunk. When one of the bartenders told him to get down, they realized he was dead."

She narrowed her pale eyes, finding both Aetius and Parem equally austere despite the bizarre narrative. "Well," Aria said, "that's the nature of eyewitness testimony. It's hardly ever reliable. It's dark, someone was murdered, people got spooked. I want to know what _really_ happened. Someone get him down from there and get a thorough autopsy done."

"Better bury him soon," Jala suggested. "Without any eyes he's fucked without proper rites. His soul can't depart."

In contempt, more so for the circumstances than Jala's frivolity, Aria gripped his collar and pulled him down to approximately eye-level. She was close enough to see the jagged edges of an old, long scar etched into his cheek when she hissed at him, "If I hear another yokel superstition today someone else is going to need a burial. Get in contact with his surviving relatives and tell them I'll release the body when I say so. Understand?"

He nodded, unaffected by the threat. Aria stiffly released him.

While a few mercenaries retrieved the body from the statue's arms, Parem suggested to Aria, "We can view security footage in the back if you like. I too long for answers. As you know, Olat was always welcome in my establishments. His kin are well-respected here."

Aria brushed off the platitude and followed her, bringing Aetius along and leaving Jala behind to oversee the cleanup. They accessed a door behind the bar leading to an employee-only area, and strode down a passage illuminated by the same blue as the rest of the floor, dousing their bodies in that purgatorial, cold depth of space. The music attenuated, thudding through the walls like the muffled heartbeat of the nightclub, resonating from deep within. A few casino employees passed them, clinging to the wall as they hurried by. When they reached the surveillance room, sparsely lit by countless live feeds, the batarian security head turned away from his station to rise and greet them. 

"Sahra Igrahal," he greeted her with the honorific before extending equivalent respect to Aria by nodding. "I have the playback ready for you. I find it very perplexing."

He retreated to a dim corner of the room as Aria and Parem sat down before the array of monitors. Aetius stood behind Aria's chair and leaned into the glow for a closer look as they played the recording. 

The security head informed them, "Eight seconds in, check the lower right-hand corner. That's where he walks through the main door."

Sure enough, Olat Dar'nerah arrived precisely when and where he was indicated and started to make his way toward his final resting place. He was a shadowy form among myriad others. They would've lost him to the crowds if not for their ability to track him with a red outline generated by the security software. 

"Pause," said Aria, and her voice command was implemented. "Zoom in. Let's take a look at his face."

The impressive resolution of Dradmovan's cameras, even in the bleak darkness, revealed Olat's face as sharply as it would appear in person. What they found rendered them all utterly silent for what seemed a full, uninterrupted minute. 

Four gaping holes were in the place of his eyes, glistening with blood that dripped down the contours of his face like streaming tears. Aria reclined in her chair, studying the sight with scrupulous attention to minute detail. She was far more confounded than disturbed. As Aetius had reported, a bullet to the head had been identified as the preliminary cause of death. Aria considered the possibility of Olat's eyes being removed while he was still alive, then he was shot later while traveling through the club. However, no gunshots had been reported. A potential silencer only resolved one issue with this theory, as it could not explain how a mutilated and murdered man ended up in the statue's hand unassisted. 

Not wanting to speculate overmuch just yet, Aria commanded, "Play."

Olat resumed carving a straight path through the masses, inexorable and unaffected by all exterior stimuli as though he were in a trance. He seemed magnetically compelled to the metallic idol behind the bar. When Olat left the camera's field of vision, the recording automatically switched to an alternate angle. 

"How did no one see that?" Aetius remarked in bewilderment. "How could an injury that horrific go unnoticed by all those people? Why didn't anyone stop him?"

"Imagine seeing that for an instant, in passing," said Parem. "What would you have done? Would you have believed what you saw? Would you confront that nightmare, or would you rather pretend you hadn't seen anything, or imagined it, and go about your business?"

He blinked and steeled his gaze at the playback, mildly unsettled. 

Aria continued to watch the vid without taking her eyes off Olat for an instant. She was half-anticipating a shot to the back of his head, half-anticipating… she didn't even know what. Anything to discredit the highly peculiar accounts of the eyewitnesses. When Olat's back was to the camera, she paused it again. "Stop and zoom in."

The software enhanced the image to focus on the back of Olat's head, and what they saw was just as jarring as their first discovery: the gunshot wound in all its dreadful glory, taunting Aria's sense of reason.

"Play," she said, frustration rising in her voice. The remainder of the vid adhered to testimony with impeccable accuracy, from the moment the man climbed over the bar to the ire of the bartenders and faultlessly scaled the statue despite his lack of vision, to when he lied down in Anoragot's arms. People were beginning to gather around the spectacle when Aria pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.

"This doesn't make any fucking sense," she growled, pacing behind the two chairs while watching the vid over Parem's shoulder. People threw things at Olat in either support or disparagement of the stunt until a few guards ordered them to stop. After restoring peace and preventing any more projectiles from entering the air, a batarian bartender began to carefully climb the statue. He grabbed Olat's shoulder and shook him, trying to rouse the man from his slumber, ignorant of its eternal hold. Then he suddenly drew away in fright and nearly slipped from his perch. The people below were moving now, trembling with panic and retreating from the bar. After shakily descending the body of Anoragot, the bartender staggered over to the guards.

"They called me after that," said Aetius. "And here we are."

"This doesn't make sense," Aria repeated, still lurking behind the chairs while immersed in rapid, calculating thought. "Something happened to him before he entered Dradmovan. Someone did something to him to make this happen. I want to know what, how, and why… I want to speak with that bartender." She pointed at the person in question. "Who is that? Bring them to me."

"That's Bothan Korgess," said the security head. "I'll call him up right now."

* * *

Seated in a private booth beneath the same deathly blue that had cloaked the inexplicably reanimated man as he strode into the arms of a wicked god, the bartender Bothan Korgess fought for his composure while held hostage by the intimidating scrutiny of Aria T'Loak and Parem Igrahal. He fidgeted, failing to return eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time.

The club was empty and silent now, save for the mercenaries milling around, combing trash for evidence as they shepherded the employee cleaning crew. Someone turned white lights on to aid the scour. Aria felt a twinge of pain in her temple until she adjusted to the abnormal level of brightness.

Eventually, Parem displayed mercy by folding her hands together on the table dividing them and saying to Bothan, "I'm sure you realize that Olat Dar'nerah was an officer of Aria's syndicate, murdered in my territory. This has put us both in a precarious position. An officer killed in rival territory can easily be construed as an act of war. This is not something we want. I want to clarify something else, too. I hold my relations in high regard. If I ever find that I have acted as a result of misinformation, I will not hesitate to purge the source of it."

After Bothan meekly nodded a few times in quick succession, Parem turned the interrogation over to Aria.

In general, Aria concurred with Parem's statement. They had suffered their disagreements over the years, and blood had been spilled on rare occasion, but thus far into their history peace had proven the most lucrative long-term policy. Of course, peace was not a permanent barricade against the natural attrition of entropy, and so Aria never doubted the inevitability of war. The _timing_ of war, however, was paramount. And this was not the time. 

"I've heard a lot of accounts tonight," Aria said, "and they vary from person to person, but one feature remains the same. Olat Dar'nerah, a dead man, was seen moving himself into the position we found him in. I want to hear _your_ account. What happened?"

He gathered his shambling voice to answer, "Well, I didn't see him until he was near the bar. I didn't see his face at first, because, you know… I don't really take a good look at anyone unless they're ordering a drink. He climbed over the bar while I was tending to a customer. He had already started to scale the statue by the time I noticed what he was doing. I yelled at him. Told him to get down, but he kept going. By the time he made it to the arms, people had crowded around to watch. They laughed at him. Started throwing things. Bottles. Food. Garbage. I asked security to stop them because I knew I'd be the one to pick up all their trash. I climbed up after the guy, who at the time I assumed was drunk."

His gaze momentarily diverted to a small orange flame erupting in the hands of Parem; she fitted a small black-papered cigarette into a fashionable holder and lit it. She offered another to Aria, who declined, and then to Bothan, saying, "For your nerves. Speak clearly and confidently."

"I _—_ I am very appreciative, but no thank you."

"Take it."

"I don't smoke, Sahra. It's bad for my health."

"Forget the cigarette," Aria demanded, her impatience flaring. "Just keep talking."

"Of course," he said. "So, I tried waking up the poor bastard. Shook him, shouted at him, jabbed at him, but he wasn't moving. Then I got a better look at him... Scared the shit out of me. I couldn't believe it. I almost fell right then, but managed to hang on and get myself down again in one piece. Then I called the guard. And... that's it."

Aria posed one final question. "What do you think happened, Bothan? What do you think was done to Olat, to… manufacture this scenario?"

He was silent for a long interval of time, all four eyes flitting about Aria's face. "I… I really don't know. I don't have the slightest idea. Maybe this is some sort of intervention."

"Intervention?" she repeated to provoke an elaboration.

"From the gods, perhaps," Bothan replied with dire caution. "They could be angry at him. At us. For all we know… maybe this is a warning. End-times, all that."

Parem chuckled when Aria's expression soured. "Looks like there's going to be another burial today."

While Bothan was visibly alarmed by the implication, Aria merely rolled her eyes and said, "You can go now."

"Yes ma'am," he said, graciously nodding before sliding out of the booth and retreating to the bar.

Once he was gone, Parem turned to Aria. "The end-times?" she said, sounding jocund as a small puff of smoke left her lips.

"Apparently," came her dry response.

"So what do _you_ think is going on?"

Aria folded her arms and glared at the sight of Parem tapping her cigarette over an ashtray, watching occluding tendrils of smoke wisp like mournful spirits. "I think someone went to great lengths to fuck with us," she said. "Someone's trying to start a war, and this is just elaborate bait designed to get us riled and irrational. But I won't be manipulated. I don't believe in ghosts, and I sure as hell don't believe anything anyone has said to me today."


End file.
